


Easy come, easy go

by bloodandcream



Series: Ship all the Ships [129]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bathroom Sex, F/M, Hook-Up, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-04
Updated: 2016-09-04
Packaged: 2018-08-12 21:53:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7950541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodandcream/pseuds/bloodandcream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Krissy flirts with him in that way that women do when they’re not really interested but they know if they’re sweet and receptive just enough, they’ll get what they want. It doesn’t really count as being played, if Dean knows it’s not going anywhere - right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Easy come, easy go

She’s been watching him all night.

Hair a messy riot of dark curls that’s half pulled up, white tank top low enough the edge of a black bra is showing, jeans molded to her ass riddled with holes down to the ankle where they’re tucked into boots. There’s a little mole just under one eye, and as far as Dean can tell she isn’t wearing makeup.

Maybe he’s putting on a bit of a show, but then, he usually is when he drives out with no direction to hit up a few dive bars so he can shake off the tension of the work week and the pervasive sense that he’s a just a bug pinned to a board, not going nowhere. Getting into bars underage and hustling pool used to be an act of rebellion, a way to pick up a little change on the weekend because as long as he showed up for school his dad didn’t ask where he went or who he’d gotten the shiners from. Now, it kind of feels like there might be a middle age crisis impending and Dean’s just sliding back into habits of his youth to feel younger.

Whatever. He doesn’t need to pick up the youngest girl in the joint. Maybe he could sweet talk the blond waitress with the tight ass into getting a motel room with him. The girl with the mole, she looks young enough that it kind of makes Dean uneasy. It’s still flattering, though, that she watches him swagger and watches him hustle a few hundred and watches him flirting with the bartender.

But of course, if a pretty young thing wants to sidle up on a stool next to him and lean close, well, it’s only polite to buy her a drink.

“Got a name, sweetheart?”

“Krissy.”

“I’m Dean,” he smiles at her, in that charming way that usually brings a blush or a giggle, but a scowl flits over her face briefly before she settles a hand on his thigh. It’s small and warm through denim, fingers squeezing tight.

“You getting old men to buy you a drink ‘cause you ain’t old enough, Krissy?”

She rolls her eyes, “Why would I buy myself drinks when I can get someone else to buy them for me?”

“Got a point there.”

Dean’s just a man, and there’s no harm in letting his eyes trail down the slight swell of her cleavage, skin pale and smooth and her tits look like the perfect handful. He orders two beers for the both of them and Krissy accepts hers, tipping it back and swallowing half in one go. Dean stares. He’s had a little whiskey, a little beer, and he’s pleasantly cheerful because everything’s going well tonight.

Krissy flirts with him in that way that women do when they’re not really interested but they know if they’re sweet and receptive just enough, they’ll get what they want. It doesn’t really count as being played, if Dean knows it’s not going anywhere - right?

Only, she slides her hand a higher on his thigh, spreading slim fingers out and scrunching up loose demin, thumb barely skating over the fat line of his dick that’s starting to perk up. Close enough, Dean can smell the spice of summer heat sweat on her skin, smell the sweetness of her hair. Close enough, when she murmurs in his ear and tells him to follow her back, the breath that skitters over his cheek sets a shiver down his spine.

Honestly, Dean wonders if she’s turning tricks and will hold his dick ransom for cash, but right now he doesn’t even care because he cleared the floor at pool and that pocket cash doesn’t mean anything to him now like it used to when he was young. Trailing after the sway of slim hips through the thinning crowd of the bar, Dean follows.

She bumps open the women’s bathroom door, waits for someone to leave, checks again and pulls Dean in by his belt, twisting to lock the door behind them. He’s not too sure if he should ask if she’s charging. There’s got to be some kind of etiquette for this, but his head is light and his dick is heavy so Dean figures he can just follow her lead.

Getting spun around and pushed against a grimy sink in front of the graffiti scrawled mirrors, Dean is surprised at the strength in her slight frame. He likes a woman that can push him around. Shove him a little. Take what she wants, and he’ll be happy as a clam to let her.

Krissy whips his pants open, sinks to her knees, and Deans got both hands buried in the soft mess of her hair while his thighs widen and he sags back against the sink. Hot and wet and eager, her mouth works over him and sinks down, tongue rubbing all along the underside while she shifts on her knees, braces her hands on his thighs, gets it just right.

Dean murmurs drunken slurs, pretty little pleadings and calls her sweetheart and he doesn’t last long when she cups his balls and squeezes just on the right side of painful.

It seems like she doesn’t expect anything from him when she stands and spits in the sink next to him, rinses out her mouth. The bitter taste of his come still lingers in the corner of her lips when Dean shoves his tongue into her mouth, cups her jaw and backs her against the wall, presses a thigh between her legs and crowds her.

She tenses, then unspools in his hands, rides the muscle of his thigh and Dean goes to work her jeans open but a hand on his wrist stops him. He’s happy to give what she’ll take, bask in the heat of another body and curl against her wandering hands that slip up under his shirt. She’s so fucking hot between her legs, beneath the denim and she whimpers prettily when Dean bites the swell of her lower lip.

Pulling back, he smirks. “Could always get a motel, sweetheart.”

Huffing, she tosses her hair back and slips from between him and the wall. Straightening her shirt, mouth twisted into a frown, she unlocks the bathroom door and doesn’t say a word as she disappears back through the crowd. Dean’s left reeling a little at the pace and the turnabout.

There’s a woman on the other side of the door who folds her arms over her chest and looks supremely unamused that Dean is in the women’s bathroom.

Mumbling an apology, making sure his pants are buckled up, Dean sways his way back to the bar and plops down to order another beer. He doesn’t see Krissy anywhere - eyeing anyone else up, flirting for more drinks.

Easy come, easy go.

Only, when Dean reaches into his pocket to pull out the wad of cash he’d made hustling, there’s nothing there.

Son of a bitch.


End file.
